Page 9 of Dare to Hold (Dare To Love #1)

Gray

The morning sun cuts through the blinds, spilling golden light across the living room floor.

I nudge the apartment door shut with my shoulder, my black Vans whispering across the floor as I head for the counter.

My keys land with a soft clink in the ceramic dish, right beside a stack of unopened mail I keep pretending I’ll get to.

It’s not messy in here, but it’s no showroom either.

A hoodie’s slung over the couch arm, my Bible sits open on the coffee table, and the dining tables buried under loose sheets of lyrics.

Some are half-finished, some are just single lines I can’t shake—pieces of prayers I keep trying to turn into songs.

A loud, throaty yowl comes from the kitchen.

“I’m coming, Goliath,” I call.

The big white cat rounds the corner, tail high like he owns the place—which, to be fair, he kinda does. I crouch down, scooping him into my arms before he can get to his food dish. He’s heavier than he looks, solid muscle and attitude, but he melts into me like we’ve been best friends forever .

“Remember when I found you?” I murmur, scratching behind his ears until he leans into my hand with that low, rumbling purr.

“Hiding under that dumpster behind that venue in Austin, all skin and bones and ready to claw the world to pieces.” I smile faintly at the memory—him hissing at me for twenty minutes straight before finally letting me wrap him in my sweatshirt.

“Guess we were both a little lost that night.”

He blinks at me. Slow. Judgmental.

“You’ll never guess who I ran into this morning,” I tell him. “Remember that girl I told you about? The one from New Orleans—the one I couldn’t stop thinking about?”

Another slow blink.

“Yeah. Her.” My grin tugs tight. “Turns out she’s here. In Dallas. Just…sitting in my coffee shop like it’s the most normal thing in the world.”

He flicks his tail like he’s still not impressed.

“I know,” I say, dropping my voice. “She’s even prettier than I remembered. And yeah, I invited her to church. Don’t give me that look—you’ll see. She’s worth it.”

I set him down, fill his bowl, and watch him dig in like food’s the only thing worth living for.

My gaze shifts to the corner where my favorite guitar waits.

Sunlight cuts across the strings, making them glint like they’re itching for me.

I pick it up, sink into the chair by the window, and let my fingers find a slow, familiar chord progression—something that’s been stuck in my head since New Orleans.

But even with music filling the air, my head’s not here. It’s back at that coffee shop. Back to the way Ivy looked when she saw me, like she’d been thinking about me too all this time.

Three months. Every single day, she’s crossed my mind. Sometimes in flashes—her laugh, the way she tucked her hair behind her ear. Other times it’s been heavier, like a weight I carry without meaning to. And now she’s here. Close enough to reach again.

I strum the last chord and let it hang, the low hum fading into the quiet.

The next couple of hours blur together in the best way—finishing the song I’ve been working on since before Christmas, starting another one that’s been buzzing in my head all morning, and pulling together the final set list for this weekend’s services.

I play through each song once, making sure it feels right.

When it clicks, I jot quick notes on the chord charts and slide them into my folder, ready for rehearsal.

I glance at the clock and sigh. “Alright, Goliath, I’ll be back before dinner,” I tell him, standing to stretch. “Don’t have too much fun without me.” He blinks like he’s already plotting something.

I grab my leather jacket from the back of the chair, sling my guitar case over my shoulder, and lock up behind me. The late morning air is warm, the kind that sticks to your skin, and I let it wake me up as I head for New Chapter Church.

By the time I pull into the church lot, the sun’s climbing higher, painting the brick building in gold. A few scattered cars sit near the front entrance, the quiet hum of a weekday morning settling over the place.

Inside, the sanctuary is a different story. Cables snake across the stage, Caleb’s already behind the drum kit, tapping out a lazy beat on the hi-hat, and Jess is at the keys, warming up with a run of chords that sound like they belong in a movie soundtrack.

“Hey, Gray,” Jess calls without looking up. “Thought you were too cool to show up early.”

“Just trying to keep you guessing,” I shoot back, setting my guitar case down by my spot.

From the sound booth, Gabe leans over the railing. “Man, you’re practically whistling. Did you get good news or something?”

I shake my head with a smirk. “Just a good morning.”

That earns me a few raised brows. Across the stage, Molly and Luke—two of our vocalists—share a look before going back to flipping through their sheet music. Caleb keeps up the soft drumbeat like he’s scoring the moment, and I’m not about to give them anything more to speculate about.

I take my guitar out, checking the tuning, and the familiar weight settles in my hands. This—these people, this stage—it’s the one place outside my apartment that feels like home.

We run through the first couple of songs, finding our rhythm without much effort.

Between takes, Caleb cracks a joke about Jess’s “overly dramatic intro,” Molly teases Luke about missing his harmony, and Gabe calls for “one more run” even though we all know it’s solid.

It’s the kind of banter that’s stitched into every practice—effortless, comfortable, making you lean on without realizing it.

We run the last song twice just to nail the transitions, and Jess finally calls it. “Alright, I’m declaring us officially good enough for Sunday.”

Caleb stretches his arms over his head. “Good enough? We’re amazing. ”

I’m winding my cables when the sanctuary doors swing open and Micah—my best friend and the children’s ministry leader here at New Chapter Church—strolls in, a travel mug in hand. “Look at you guys, actually wrapping up on time for once.”

He comes up the aisle, giving me one of those knowing looks. “Why are you smiling so much?”

Before I can answer, Caleb smirks from behind the kit. “Yeah, something’s up with this guy today. He’s practically glowing.”

Molly laughs. “Maybe he finally wrote that love song he’s been pretending isn’t a love song.”

I shake my head, heat crawling up the back of my neck. “You’re all ridiculous.”

Gabe leans over the booth railing. “Sure, man. Keep your secrets.”

I close my guitar case a little harder than necessary, more to hide my grin than anything else.

“Hey, Micah—you got time to chat?”

“Always.”

We leave the team to their teardown and head out of the sanctuary.

The halls are alive with the quiet hum of midweek ministry—nursery volunteers wiping down toys in the kids’ wing, the faint smell of glue sticks and goldfish crackers drifting from behind the bright double doors.

We pass the row of classrooms where small groups meet.

Down another hallway, the café is still open—student-run, the espresso machine hissing as a young woman in a mission’s t-shirt hands off a latte to a smiling woman in scrubs.

Every dollar raised goes to send those students across the globe each summer.

The space smells faintly of fresh paint from the last renovation, a reminder of how much this place has grown in the last few years.

New Chapter Church isn’t quite a mega church, but it’s big enough to feel full every Sunday.

Still, it’s the kind of place where people remember your name—and for me, it’s the place that changed everything.

If I hadn’t stumbled in here one-night years ago—tired, hungover, looking for nothing but a quiet corner to sit in—I’m not sure where I’d be now. The thought makes my chest tighten. This place gave me a reason to keep going. Gave me Jesus. Gave me a family.

We step into the lobby, the tall windows spilling sunlight across polished floors.

A bold navy accent wall anchors the space, the church’s logo stretched across it in crisp white lettering.

Leather couches in rich brown line the wall, structured but still soft enough to sink into.

I drop into one, letting the cushion ease me back, but my mind is already somewhere else—six days from now, wondering if she’ll actually walk through those doors.

I rub the back of my neck, trying to figure out where to start.

“Okay, so… remember that girl I met in New Orleans?”

Micah smirks. “The one you wouldn’t shut up about for three months? Yeah, I remember.”

“Right. Well, I ran into her this morning. At Royal Brew.” I lean back, my foot tapping against the floor. “She still drinks vanilla lattes with oat milk…and she still does that thing where she tucks her hair behind her ear when she’s thinking.”

Micah lets out a low laugh. “Bro, you’re already gone. You remember what she did with her hair?”

I shoot him a look, but I can’t stop the corner of my mouth from lifting. “I’m just saying… it’s not every day you see someone you thought you’d never see again. ”

Micah leans back, eyebrows lifting. “And the problem is?”

I shrug, trying to play it off, but my voice gives me away. “I don’t know, man. She’s just—” I shake my head, a half-laugh slipping out. “It’s like I blinked and there she was. The same girl I’ve thought about every day since New Orleans.”

“That’s not a problem, Gray.”

I let the silence stretch, my gaze dropping to the church logo on the wall like it might give me courage.

“Yeah… maybe. Except—” I take a breath; the words heavier than I want them to be. “I don’t think she’s a Christian.”

Micah’s smirk fades. He sits forward, elbows on his knees, eyes locking on mine. “Ah. Okay. That’s different.”

I nod, the unease settling deeper. “Yeah. I mean, I didn’t ask outright, but… I can tell. She didn’t grow up around it, never went to church. I invited her this Sunday, but…”

“But you’re already halfway in,” he finishes, his voice low but steady. “And you’ve been down that road before, you know it’s not easy.”

“I know.”

He leans back, exhaling through his nose. “Look, I’m not telling you to write her off. I’m saying you need to date intentionally. You know what happens when you get wrapped up in someone who isn’t walking the same road you are. You’ve lived it.”

I stare at my hands, jaw tight. “I know.”

Micah’s tone softens, though the weight of his words stays. “You’ve got a good thing going right now. God’s been doing work in you. Don’t compromise that—not even for someone who makes you smile like you’ve been smiling all morning. ”

I huff out a laugh, more of a release than anything. “That obvious, huh?”

“Everyone noticed,” he says, cracking the faintest grin. Then, more seriously, “Just… guard your heart. And hers.”

He leans back against the leather. “And hey—this could be a good thing. You might be the one who helps lead her to Christ. That’s worth praying over.”

I nod slowly, but he’s not done.

“Also… don’t fall too hard too fast,” Micah adds, his tone gentler now. “I’ve seen guys get so wrapped up in the possibility that they miss the reality. Give God space to work. And give her space to figure out what she believes—without the pressure of it being about you.”

Before I can answer, a voice calls from down the hall, asking for Micah. He pats my shoulder as he stands. “I’ve gotta get back to prepping for youth night. You good?”

“Yeah,” I say, leaning back as he heads off.

The lobby feels quieter without him, and I just sit there for a minute, staring at the wall.

I want to fall. Hard. Everything in me wants to lean into whatever this is with Ivy. But Micah’s words stick. Guard your heart. Give God space.

I close my eyes and bow my head.

Lord… if this isn’t from You, shut the door before I walk through it. But if it is, if Ivy is meant to be part of my life, let her be open when I share the Good News. Prepare her heart for worship and the message on Sunday. And give me the wisdom not to get in the way of what You’re doing.

When I open my eyes, the prayer lingers like a steady hum in my chest. Somewhere down the hall, the band’s still playing—slow and steady, voices weaving together. They never did pack up. The melody slips under my skin, guiding my thoughts back to her .

I picture Ivy stepping into this place for the first time.

The way the lobby light will hit her hair.

The way the sound will roll through the hall and find her, the same way it found me all those years ago when I stumbled in by accident.

I pray she’ll feel that same pull—that same holy weight in her chest that won’t let her leave the same as she came in.

Eventually, I stand, sliding on my worn leather jacket and grabbing my bag. Out in the parking lot, the late afternoon sun’s warm on my face. I’m halfway to my truck when a few lines tumble into my head, uninvited.

I stop dead, fishing my phone from my pocket before the words vanish. Thumb tapping furiously, I get them down, just enough to remember later, before slipping the phone away.

Didn’t know then what You were starting

But You wrote it on my heart

The engine rumbles to life, and I can’t help the grin that creeps in. Goliath’s in for a treat tonight. Can’t wait to sing him this new part of the song.